


and i can't sleep (cause thoughts of you devour, thoughts of you consume)

by silversonata



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Gladiators, Courtesan Tony, Gladiator Thanos, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-25
Updated: 2017-07-20
Packaged: 2018-10-23 20:26:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10726593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silversonata/pseuds/silversonata
Summary: Tony thinks of salty, stolen kisses.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> title: war of hearts by ruelle  
> [tony's belly chain](http://silversonata.tumblr.com/post/158095916981/reference-1-lotr-au-2-irontitanpet-tony-au)  
> [tony's lil nip piercings (in gold tho)](http://silversonata.tumblr.com/post/158095916981/reference-1-lotr-au-2-irontitanpet-tony-au-3/)  
> [tony's chest jewelry/chain](https://www.etsy.com/listing/241139977/nipples-jewelry-nipple-piercing-jewelry?ref=related-5/)  
> [tony's first outfit (spectating, w/different materials)](http://silversonata.tumblr.com/post/158095916981/reference-1-lotr-au-2-irontitanpet-tony-au)  
> [tony's second outfit](http://silversonata.tumblr.com/post/158095916981/reference-1-lotr-au-2-irontitanpet-tony-au-3/)
> 
> i'm not too happy with this, but i invested way too much time editing (i remembered why i hate writing lmao), and i felt i just should slap it together, and be done with it. apologies for mistakes, grammars, errors, convoluted/confusing writing. ;u;

Mandated, and dispatched, by the highest authority of the Sakaar empire, Death's Head Guards invade, infiltrate, the sanctuary of the Hypogeum in several squadrons, impose, and enforce, restraints on the first slew of gladiatorial challengers, and detain them in factions of their custody.

Impassive, inexpressive, inorganic specimens to the core, the cybernetic warriors haul a challenger to the forefront of Tony's workstation, pierce, and puncture, their aresian claws in the grey, ashy tint of his skin, and push, shove him to the bend of his knees, to the stone slab of the floor.

(Instantaneous, and immediate, a few of Death's Head units retract their synthetic forearms into various armaments - artillery shells, pulse bolts, plasma and ion cannons - and hone in on their latest charge.)

Tony's heart falters, stutters.

_Thanos._

Silent, a hint of unease, and discomfort, Tony ambles, sways into the Titan's space, and slips slender, nimble fingers onto the inhibitor collar, fiddles, tinkers, with the sleek, metallic surface of the device.

(Attentive, diligent, Tony furrows his brows, harsh indentations on the ridge of his nose, thin lines on the expanse of his forehead, a slight pinch to the corner of his mouth. Still, he finds he cannot stem the tremble, and fluster, of his hands.)

Greasy, oily fingertips slide into the panels, and gears, delve, naturally, purposefully, into the mechanics, calibrate the explosive concussion buds, and sonic frequencies, and seamlessly activate the necessary protocols for the tournament.

(Weak, so very weak, he crumples, succumbs to the temptation, to the wile, mesmeric desire in his veins, and in his heart, and sweeps the earthy browns of his eyes towards his gladiator.)

Flinty, icy blues fixate on his features, scrutinize, and survey, the deep, pungent stains of oil on his linen clothes, the smears of grease on the swell of his cheek, on the bristles of his chin, and the impressions of his teeth on his lower lip - his relaxed, unhurried appraisal so very raw, so very fond.

(Tony thinks of salty, stolen kisses, of fervent, velvet promises, of illicit affairs, of quick tumbles, and messy fucks, in the storerooms, pens, and baths.)

Deliberate, he pulls, shifts the wires.

(And he thinks of large, coarse hands on the splay of golden chains that twine, twist, around his throat, of knobby fingers that trail the delicate links of chain to the diamond hinged-rings in his pert, dusky nipples, and of tender caresses that trace the fiery ruby in his navel, the lustrous, luminous, string of chains that cinch to his waist, and dangle in folds --)

Tony seals the latch, a faint thrum beneath his touch, and hurries to the next combatant.

* * *

Thanos, Champion of Sakaar, Rebel King, and Undefeated Titan, strides into the coliseum, his massive, muscular berth in finely crafted strips of leather, his armor neatly stitched, and padded, to his stature in a sparse ensemble of a pauldron, manica, and belt, and a pair of greaves.

(Remarkably disinterested, detached, Thanos emerges last in the lineup - the final competitor in the Crown City's barbaric games of entertainment - and he trudges through the carnage of previous matches, treads through the gory, bloody slop of slain criminals, slaves, prisoners, and spoils, of war. Victims to Asan's greed for glory, victims to dreams of freedom, fame, and fortune.)

Angmo-Asan II, Crown Prince, Deliverer of People, son of the Father Emperor of Sakaar, stands to attention, cocksure, and vain, in the silver plates of his high-tech, exoskeleton war suit.

(An unfair, unjust, presentation, Asan wields a broad, heavyset sword, Thanos wields none.)

Angmo, in the antique, banner-adorned seat representative of his sovereignty, commences the duel, spurs the Coliseum into a cacophony of shrill, bloodthirsty cries.

Relentless, merciless, Asan mounts an offensive strike, pursues Thanos, taunts, and sneers, the displays of cowardice - the defensive footwork that effectively eludes the swings of his blade.

In a technique of brute force, and rapid strikes, the essence of sloppy, shoddy swordsmanship, Asan slices into the unprotected ridges of Thanos' abdomen, mars the flesh in shallow scrapes, and nicks. Swift, he barrels into Thanos, flicks, tosses, his sword, and drives the metal hilt into his stomach, bright blotches of purple along the skin.

Apprehensive, and tentative, a flurry of nerves, Tony stares, and scours, the Imperial arena, assesses the damage, and surmises the chances of victory for both contenders.

Skittish, he swallows the dry prickle of bile on his tongue, curls his hands in the ivory, silky fibers of his gown, and jostles the crystals of his necklace, and headpiece, in a shaky exhale. Undeterred, he looks, peers, from the confines of Angmo's elaborate dais, the gorgeous, ferocious, Sakaar native, Caiera, beside him, the two blatant favorites of Asan's many courtesans.

(He thumbs the edge of the small dial in his palm, waits.)

Languid, and limber, Thanos swivels, and drags, his boots in the sand, raises his manica to intercept Asan's blade, and deflects a barrage of assaults, evades mortal wounds. By the narrowest of margins, he manages to avoid a potential gouge in his side, a hollow in his leg, and a barb in his heel.

And they dance, tease, and beckon, death.

Thanos, however, tires of the theatrics, and sordid pretense, parries, sidesteps Asan, and knocks the sword from his weak, inadequate hands. Prompt, he snaps his wrist, snatches the hilt in his grip, and lifts the sword to the roars of the Coliseum, the patrons unabashed in their lust for Thanos' particular flavor, and flair, of bloodshed.

(Tony flicks the dial.)

Enraged, a vicious grind of his teeth, and a sharp spasm in his jaw, Asan finds his suit uncooperative, the mechanisms slowing to a stop, and locking into place, leaving a useless, dense, chunk of silver on the open field. Entirely, and utterly, vulnerable.

Effortless, Thanos spears the blade in the silver joints of Asan's suit, tears, and lodges, the steel in the crux of Asan's shoulder, and arm, and smacks his manica into the emblem of Asan's chest. And the silver plates fracture, rupture, beneath his fist, collapse in solid fragments on Asan's wiry, bony frame, and splinter his sternum, and ribs.

(A shell of his former splendor, and honor, Asan shrivels, heaves, and rattles for breath.)

Thanos flings Asan to the ground in a painful sprawl of limbs, turns, listens for the whims, and mercies, of the Coliseum.

(Unbridled, untamed, the spectators erupt in a chorus of pleas, and chants, for the execution of their prince.)

Gladiator of the Populace, Thanos kneels in the grains of sand, snags Asan's head in the crook of his arm, and clinches him by his upper, and lower, jaw. Once, twice, he squeezes, baits Asan, elicits his screams, and he pulls, rips, the jawbone from the hinges of his mouth.

Blood, like the dark, rich red of Asan's complexion, gushes, splatters, and spews onto Thanos, fresh flecks of blood on his hands, greaves, and boots.

 

*

 

Angmo, Sakaar's frail, wisp of an Emperor, straightens, staggers to the front of the dais, and brandishes his scepter, silences the Coliseum. Hoarse, he questions, "You have assumed the mantle of Victor for this foolhardy tournament. Now, which of my son's possessions will you partake of?"

A gait of inexplicable power, and a demeanor of royal forebears, Thanos walks, ventures near the platform, in a ripple of muscle, and maintains his pride, levels his gaze with the Emperor. "I shall have a new set of chambers, ones that do not seek to keep me in the squalor of beasts." Thanos flickers his icy blues on the shape of Tony, soaks, and basks, in the sight of him. "And I shall have a bride."

"A bride?"

"The Terran."

(Stunned, Tony smiles in the cradle of his palms, sweet, and saccharine.)

* * *

Tony saunters, glides, into the bathhouse, bespoke in the swathes of gold, and silver, in the threads of a halter that compresses the flat mounds of his chest, and in the strands of lace that taper low to his waist, and he blinks, flutters his lashes.

(Thanos lingers by the basin, scrubs, and scrapes, the slathers of gold from his flesh - his Roman mask forgotten, neglected.)

"You asked for my favor." Smoky, and sweat-slick, the haze of incense, and spice, in his every step, Tony struts closer, and closer, scant inches from the warmth of Thanos' body.

(Brash, foolish, Thanos promised him the sun, and stars, and courted his interest in his first gladiatorial endeavor.)

"I just, I can't be yours -- not really, not completely." Tony gestures to the bruises, and bites, that decorate his sun-kissed skin, to the wet patches that spoil, sully his clothes, a reminder of his status, of his place in Asan's kingdom. A muddle of worries, doubts, and fears, Tony glances away, "But, if you still want this, if you still want me, you can have it."

_You can have me._

Gently, Thanos clasps Tony's ruddy cheeks, leans in, and kisses him, lightly molds to the curve of his lips, a honey tang against his tongue.

"I will always want you."

 

*

 

(Thanos swears he will dismantle, and demolish this regime, vows he will free his little courtesan, and gift him the world, the universe, his feverish words in the column of Tony's throat. Tony settles on Thanos' lap, on the divine throne of his hips, and sinks onto his thick, and heavy, cock. And he gasps, arches, and adjusts to the girth, the sting of tears in his eyes.)

Thanos promises him the future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> S O  
> tony's been stranded on sakaar, dunno how he got there, maybe he sucked into some portal?? while saving lives?? or reed richards messed with things he shouldn't have, a n y h o w, he's one of the top courtesans for the crown prince, favored bc of his engineering skills (he studied/learned about all the different types of tech on sakaar, and learned how to create/improve shit, so he's responsible for some of the upgrades, i.e., inhibitor collars) and he and thanos carry on a ~~forbidden affair~~ that eventually leads to them overthrowing angmo's regime, conquering the empire, and then, i dunno, conquering some more planets?? 
> 
> i forgot to imply it, oop, but tony basically manipulated angmo-asan into holding a tournament against the gladiators (staking his wealth, fortune, freedom, etc) and proving his worth, greatness, and all that jazz, and he tampered with thanos' collar, so it would emit a specific frequency that would immobilize asan's war suit and allow thanos to overpower him. hence, thanos ~officially~ making off with tony. and then plotting the demise of the sakaar empire.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pt.2 inspired by mariexa's comment about thanos conquering planets/civilizations for tony instead of death. AND I LIKE totally dropped the ball...again. it's smth small + towards the end. i mainly added more of how tony/thanos first started off, gdi. i'll get the hang of this, i swear. i might just shove a pt. 3 snippet to emphasize it more, tbh.
> 
> pls excuse the mistakes/errors/confusing, incomprehensible writing. i was making some progress and i think it was a one step forward, two steps back situtation?? weeps. ALSO, lil super small nsfwish tidbit. it's not even irontitan, smh.
> 
> AND a quick refresher that the king/emperor are 2 different ppl, the emperor is the father of the king. pulled this from 616 marvel wiki

Untamed, and unbridled, a bright blaze of righteous fury, the beast, Titanian born, roars, thunderous, murderous, on the auctioneer's block, and thrashes, and strains, persistent, vehement, in his binds, and rebukes his subjugation—his enslavement. 

Unfazed, the wires of their circuitry unmoved, untouched by the frantic display, Death's Head guards swarm, storm the platform, and prepare to apprehend, and subdue him. Prompt, resilient, they retract the aresian alloy plates from their forearms, splay their sleek, cybernetic fingers, generate, and harness, sparks of electricity, and release the bursts of white in the Titan's retraints, quell his protests, diminish his vigor. 

They wrangle, wrestle him to the dirt.

Anger, harsh, bitter, and acrid, flares in the depths of his eyes, wells in the recesses of his throat, leaves the dry taste of smoke, and ash, on his tongue—he will not be their entertainment. 

(He's the one.) 

* * *

(A film of sweat beads, trickles into the lines, and ridges, of his skin, mingles in the traces of grime, and dust, that lingers. Listless, and senseless, an eerie lack of his earlier ferocity, he dangles, suspends from several chains, chafes, raw, and abrasive, in his constraints, his braces thin, silver bands that limit, and hinder, the full force of his strength. And he slumps, hangs his head, dips his chin in the metallic collar that sits low, secure on his neck.) 

Tony looks to the cell, considers the transparent glass, steel walls—a receptacle, and container, for the mightiest of Sakaar captives, for monstrous gladiators, and vicious soldiers—and reaches for the latch.

Deliberate, a sure, steady pressure in his fingertips, Tony slips, delves into the mechanics of the metal ring, searches, deft, dexterous, for the necessary component, and disables the device. 

Glass panels shift, and slide, and pull apart, reveal the entryway, and Tony, tentative, and adamant _,_  steps inside, allows the panels to reseal, and confine him. Furtive, an edge of precision, and caution, in his movements, he approaches, eases, nice, and slow, towards the Titan, his focus on the numerous shackles. 

Brief, he taps, inspects one of the braces, familiar materials, and designs, beneath his touch, and—

Treacherous, dangerous, the Titan springs to life, unravels, and unwinds, swells with inexplicable power, unimaginable grace, and Tony  _reels_. In a matter of seconds, the Titan pulls on his chains, dares to splint, and crack, the arid walls, and swings forward, knocks Tony to the ground, inadvertently rips the cloak from his shoulders. 

A testament to his fortitude, he pins, cages Tony between his knees—traps him underneath his massive bulk. 

"Now," Icy, inky blues swivel to the scant strips of clothes Tony wears, to the fine threads of his garish, fiery, two-piece—to the small top that clings, and squeezes, his pecs, to the scrap of panties that coil his waist, and to the string of crystals that decorate his midriff, and thighs—and beckons, "What business does a harem boy have with me?" 

" _Freedom_." Brash, devoid of all finesse, and flair, Tony gasps, "I can give you your freedom--"

Dismissive, the Titan snarls, crushes Tony's sides, "Do not mistake me for a fool that has never known the charm, or sway of a silver tongue."

"Then, you'll die  _here_." Hasty, surly, his heart ablaze, Tony spits, "Inconsequential, worthless, a distant memory in the lives of these people. Another nameless exploit.  _This_  will be your greatest legacy--"

"I will not die a faceless slave forgotten by history!" Displeasure burns, bleeds into rage, brims in every fiber of his being. "Least of all, will I be degraded by a harlot that only knows how to open its legs."

"I designed this shithole." Tony swears, smacks the center of the Titan's collar, feels the device engage, respond, and react, to his fingerprints, watches it unleash a wave of static. "I designed  _this_." 

Instantaneous, the Titan hisses, spasms, his nerves pinched, and scorched, and the collar deactivates, falls into the flat of Tony's palm. Bemused, and miffed, thoroughly  _impressed_ , he furrows his brows, and studies, scrutinizes Tony, an earnest, contemplative hunger in his eyes. 

"Will you fight to honor these walls?" Tony swallows the barbs, and quips, asks. "Or, will you fight to leave them?" 

Amazed, delighted by the sheer audacity of this human, the Titan laughs. 

*

(He hails from one of Saturn's moons— _Titan_ —comes from a race long extinct, and claims the title Thanos.) 

* * *

Hazy, and needy, a desperate whore in his own right, Tony mewls, writhes, and squirms, in Angmo-Asan's lap, his heavily embroidered robes a rough scrape on his heated skin. Lengthy, spindly fingers pry the delicate chain that clips to Tony's collar, and hooks to his wrists, tug, twist the strap of his stringy thong, and dip into the neat cleft of his ass. 

Involuntary, Tony shudders, tries to relax, and surrender to the cold comfort of his King's embrace. Lazily, he tucks his nose in his Angmo's jaw, and mouths, urges him to test the mettle of his newest recruits, to seize the opportunity to reaffirm, reassert his clout. 

(A performance to commemorate the lavish—nameless, needless—celebration he's thrown.)

Silent, passive, an object of glory, and passion, Angmo's potential gladiators scatter, linger throughout the halls, cherub masks on their faces. 

(Unabashed, stricken with thirst, and desire, Angmo's guests partake of them, use their bodies, and fuck themselves onto various appendages. Angmo's personal collection, however, is not to be defiled.) 

*

Ultimately, Angmo decides to assess his recruits' worth in a one-on-one match with his personal guard, the warbound Hiroim. Tony inflates his ego, primes, and primps, his feathers.  

Hiroim remains unopposed, uncontested, five combatants slain by his sword. 

In the midst of cheer, and acclaim, Thanos emerges, commands the floor, statuesque authority, and grandeur. Solid, sinewy muscles bulge, and, shine, ripple in a leather belt, and linen sash--

Tony flushes, spreads his thighs, his King's slick fingers in his ass. And the competition commences.

Like a warrior born, and bred, Thanos measures each strike, calculates each offense, and maneuver, never wastes each moment. 

Throaty, filthy, Tony moans, tosses, and drapes his head on Angmo's shoulder, lazily grinds into his hand.

(Thanos wins.)

* * *

Victorious, triumphant in his first few gladiatorial endeavors, Thanos solidifies his presence, and significance, garners tremendous prestige, and esteem in the King's circle. A demonstration of his gratitude, and goodwill, Angmo gifts Thanos the pleasures of his harem, the tastes of his paradise, and the best creatures the universe has to offer. 

Not once does Thanos choose Tony. 

(Oftentimes, the choice has been made for him—Tony seized, preoccupied by Angmo's favorite, top-tier gladiators. Unmerciful, unforgiving, Thanos deals with them in the arena.)

Tony, nevertheless, sneaks into his chambers, dedicates his efforts to tactics, strategies, and methods for the downfall of this sordid regime, works himself to the bone for their future. And Thanos rapts his knuckles, soft, and kind, on Tony's chin, commends his ambition, and tenacity.

(Warm, an unusual stir in his heart, Tony flutters, melts under the praise.)

* * *

(Tony has a heavy darkness that clouds, haunts him, leaves him ashen, and afraid.)

"Please. Don't." Hoarse, the words thick, and broken, Tony rasps, heaves, and folds, presses his temple to the ground. "Please, don't look. Please,  _please_."

"Oh, my pet." Frigid, Thanos squeezes Tony's prototype, threatens to break the clever apparatus that accesses the human limbic system, focuses on the hippocampus, and memory, and details the grief, and pain, of his consort. "How you have suffered."

* * *

(On the eve of the tournament, they spend their spare time in each other's arms.) 

"Who is your Master?" Like Tony is something precious, valuable, and vulnerable, Thanos cradles Tony's ruddy cheeks in his palms, gently strokes the sides of his face, and carefully brushes his thumb in the wet folds of his mouth. "And whom do you serve?" 

"You." Tony whispers, breathless, witless. "You, you, you, I serve  _you_."

(Impassioned, and wholehearted, Thanos kisses him, nips, devours his whimpers, and moans, consumes him until there's nothing left.)

* * *

"You are worthy of this kingdom." Adorned, emblazoned in Titanian regalia, Thanos kneels, presents the Emperor's head on the steps of the throne. "You are worthy of the sun, stars, and moons. You are worthy of the universe, and all its realms. You are worthy of  _more_." 

"I will give you cities, civilizations, I will level  _entire_  nations." Gradual, languid, Thanos rises, walks forth. "And they will know your name, bear your colors, respect, and honor, your past, present, and future. They will worship you." 

"Earth, I will give you Earth, and her riches." Thanos stops, halts. "I will give you her people, and they will grovel, repent before you. Then, and only then, will I bleed them dry for the misery they have wrought."

(Swathed in a robe of white, and a crown of gold, Tony smiles, straightens, and leans into Thanos, melds their mouths together.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so tony's stranded on sakaar, and he discovers potential in thanos as a partner of sorts?? and thanos pretty much likes how ballsy (+ beautiful) tony is, and is totally on board with sacking this regime. and it's tony egging on angmo, the king, to start using thanos in gladiator fights, and eventually hinting @ a tournament that tests angmo's own strengths/capabilities against the best of his fighters. show the people who is boss, you know. it gets a lil fuzzier with the timeline there, b u t, tony and thanos don't necessarily fall into each other until a lil later?? falling for each other as they scheme, that's true love.
> 
> AND tony has like a version of barf or some kind of brain interface that allows thanos to see how tony's been ~treated~ hence his complete dedication towards bringin the galaxy to its knees. especially earth.


End file.
